


Unapologetic Love Story

by astoryandasong



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astoryandasong/pseuds/astoryandasong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love is an everyday thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unapologetic Love Story

**_After The Break Up_ **

  
Bob leaves Chicago on a Tuesday, and Gerard and Ray help him move back to Belleville. The apartment he shared with Mark is empty, waiting for a new tenant- he doesn’t even know where Mark is now. With someone else, maybe, but thinking about that is just asking for trouble.  There's nothing left for him here, but he takes comfort in the squint of Gerard's eyes behind sunglasses and the quiet way that Ray takes care of handing Bob's keys back.

His Aunt May left him her apartment in her will last year; at least he won’t have to move back in with his mom. As much as he loves her, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea. He’s signed on for classes in Jersey, half his credits won’t transfer so he’s going to lose a year. 

He wishes he was going home for a different reason.

 **_This is not the way I had planned it_ **

Two days later-one of reassuring his mom and one of unpacking/hiding under the duvet- Gerard invites him down to Asylum, their local coffee shop/comic store/general nerd hang-out. Bob of course, wakes up late, and starts cursing with every word in his extensive vocabulary.  He's late to meet Gerard, he can't find matching socks, and he burns his breakfast. The socks he can live with, but he's hungry and Gerard has this tendency to wander off if you're late to meet him. Unless you're Frank or Mikey, in which case Gerard will wait forever in a blizzard till you show. It’s not, as he’s explained, that he doesn’t care. He’s just sort of genuinely flaky.  

When he finally gets to Asylum, Gerard is still there, thank god. He's tucked into a corner booth with another guy with dark hair. Even from far away, Bob can tell he's too tall and lacks enough tattoos to be Frankie. They're pouring over a sketchbook, coffees steaming in front of them. Bob can't help but smile- Gerard has that affect on him, most of the time. Despite his problems, Gerard is one of the sweetest people he knows. Then strange guy looks up, catches Bob smiling at them and smiles back. Part of Bob wonders  _who is that and why is he here_ and the other part is just busy noticing how gorgeous the guy is. Gerard looks up as well then and almost knocks over his coffee waving.

 "Bob! Hi, look. I'm drawing Brendon as a ninja." Gerard holds up the paper and indeed, it's the boy, lips and all.

"It would be better as a  _zombie_  ninja, Gee. I'm Brendon, by the way." 

"Brendon's in my art class. He's a double major, art and music." Brendon gives a little wave, like yep, that’s me.

"Also I'm an Aries and enjoy long walks on the beach."

"I'm Bob. Music major. Astrology denier."

"Oh cool. We might have class together if you’re music. What instruments? Oh wait, you totally aren't caffeinated yet. Ignore me and go get some coffee."

"Yeah, sorry. It’s been a long week. I can’t function these days without at least two shots of espresso. Then we can have something resembling conversation.” He hasn't shaved at all either- he's suddenly aware that his beard could use some serious grooming.

"Nah, don’t worry. My ex-roommate is the  _same._ Total grouch without coffee. Learning that was a painful process."

Bob realises that he's sort of standing around like a complete dorkface, so he drops his bag and goes to grab coffee, kicking himself internally for being such a giant nerd. When he finally has his double espresso in hand, he drops down into the squishy seat next to Gerard and Brendon. Gerard is clearly informing Brendon about every detail of Bob's life.

"Bob just transferred in from Chicago - the funding for the music department got cut so he decided to take his credits and run." 

Brendon nods sympathetically. Cutting music funding is just wrong on so many levels. Bob wonders if Brendon likes horror movies and Thai food. He's currently tucking into a rather elaborate cupcake with what looks like strawberry icing and candy hearts. Gerard isn’t even lying- they did cut the funding. It wasn’t the whole reason, but Bob figures its good enough for now.

 “So, back to music. What instruments are you doing?” A candy heart disappears.

 “Drums, bass, sound-mixing.  I uh, kind of love the techie stuff. What about you? Let me guess, piano?”

 “Firstly, awesome, because one of my favourite people ever is a drummer and secondly yes. Piano and vocal. Also art, because I am fickle.”

 Gerard rolls his eyes.

 “Fuck  _fickle._  Don’t listen to him, Bob. He’s amazing. On the Templeton scholarship and everything.”

 Brendon actually  _blushes._  Bob wonders, what age is he?

 “Where you from? Sure as hell isn’t Jersey.” 

“Vegas. Me and two other guys moved out here together last year. Everything was great until the winter. I was so cold I thought I was actually going to die.”

 Brendon looks at his watch. Bob can see Mickey Mouse on its face, with tiny Mickey arms for hands.

 “Argh, I have a studio session with one of the guys up from Parsons. Total fucking diva. I’m designing fabric for his collection- dude is a micro-manager. Like I can’t screen-print a fucking sample all by myself. He comes all the way to Jersey just to be a pain in my ass.” He and Gerard roll their eyes in unison, then Brendon gets out a bit of paper and scribbles on it with the sharpie that Gerard was using to outline ninja!Brendon.

 “Here’s my cell number. If we’re going to be in classes together we should meet up or something?”

 He passes it over and before Bob can say anything else, he’s gone.

 The rest of the day passes sort of quietly. Gerard fills him in on the comings and goings in their group of friends. Jon Walker is dating Brendon’s room-mate, Spencer, Gerard is still crazy about Frank, Pete Wentz finally conned Patrick Stump into bed somehow. Mikey’s still practically married to Alicia Simmons. Bob remembered when going away to Chicago had been partly to get out from underneath all of this stuff. When being away from Belleville and the various people who drifted in and out of the Way’s basement room had been like a release. But now, listening to Gerard talk, thinking about a pretty guy eating a cupcake, he’s glad to be home.

 “You like him.” Gerard is smiling happily. Polishing off what's left of a bagel. Bob's startled by the question, and by the smile.

“What?”

“Brendon. You like him.”

“I only just met him. I don’t know him.”

“He’s gay.”

“ _Gerard._ ”

“Also, he’s single.”

“Shut up.”

 **_Fitting in again (also, a Boy)_ **

It’s a Wednesday, two days before the start of classes for real. Bob’s been busy getting organised, finding a part-time job (he’s going to run sound for the local dive venue) and avoiding Gerard’s attempts to throw him together with Brendon.

Well. Kind of avoiding them- since meeting in the café, they’ve been running into each other all over the place. In Asylum, at Gerard’s.  Ray has a pre-semester party, and Brendon is there with one of his room-mates.  They don’t actually get any time to talk alone, and the amount of time they’ve talked still amounts to less than a couple of hours. But Gerard was right, Bob does like him. Likes his enthusiasm for music, his obvious kindness, his ridiculous sense of humor. 

This is why Bob doesn’t even blink when Gerard says:

 "You should ask him out," Gerard doesn't look up from his page. They’re in Gerard’s basement, waiting for Frankie to come over. It amuses Bob pretty much endlessly that Frank is still in High School.  "He likes you."

Bob just stares at Gerard's drawing of Brendon as a ninja zombie for a minute, wondering when he started taking relationship advice from the guy whose boyfriend practically had to do naked handstands before he got the message. 

"How do you know?"

"He told me. Or, well, he told Spencer who told Jon and then Jon told Tom and then Tom told Pete then Pete told Mikey who told me."

By the time Gerard gets to Pete's name he's rolling his eyes. It's just a-

"Then I asked him and he said yes." Gerard finally looks up. His expression is what some people might call 'impish'. Bob just calls it 'crazy'.

"You  _what?"_

 _"_ I asked him! He said that he thought you were nice, and also hot like burning. He'd totally date you." Then he smirked. It made him look like a Goth Mean Girl. "I know you got his number. Call him."

"I'll think about it." He feels like snapping back, but it comes out sounding sort of whipped. Gerard just keeps his crazy face on and goes back to whatever it was he was drawing. Fuck him and his being right.

He totally plans to call Brendon. He has this whole thing in his head- what to say, where to go. He hasn’t dated in forever- he and Mark never really dated at all.  So he’s kind of at a loss with this stuff. Which is why, when he arrives at his first class of the year, he still hasn’t called. It's some ridiculous intro to rhythm type class, but whatever, Bob loves that shit. Drums and sound mixing are his favourite things- he can cope with some rhythmically challenged classmates in order to get time with some pretty sweet kits. He shows up and there's Brendon, standing next to another pretty boy and Jon Walker, whom Bob has known forever _._  He guesses the other pretty one must be Spencer Smith, Jon's new boyfriend and also the Spencer who passed on the 'hot like burning' quote. He is also, according to various sources (William Beckett, Frankie, and Brendon) 'a complete bitch', 'really hot', 'overprotective' and 'actually a kitten, honestly'. He's also the most 'awesome drummer I’ve ever met, Bob Bryar, no lie.' Brendon has mentioned him a couple of times since they met.  Bob likes him already for having awesome friends like Brendon and the good taste to appreciate Jon Walker. The fact that he's a drummer only proves what Bob already knows, which is that Spencer Smith is a) very sensible and b) sure to be an ally.

"Look, you guys, it's Bob! You honour us with your aura, Bob Bryar." Brendon bows dorkily, much to Smith's amusement. Smith is wearing a Pussycat Dolls Hoodie, and is clearly another member of the girl jean brigade.

"Long time no see, Bryar."  Jon gives him a manly hug. Jon is still Jon- scruffy, wearing flip-flops, looks as if he's inhaled half of Joe Trohman's stash.

They small talk about the Chicago music scene for a while before the Professor arrives, much to Brendon and Spencer's interest. Then they take seats around the walls for the theory part of the lesson.

He's sort of nervous, all the way through class. He chews his pen, taps his foot. He stops, though, when he sees Jon grinning at him. There is entirely too much gossiping going on for his liking. Fucking Frank and Mikey. The entire world must know by now that he's going to ask Brendon out. Fucking  _Pete Wentz._  He has no idea how Patrick copes.

So after class, he gets his zen on and...almost trips over Alicia Simmons' Eastpak.  Jon to his credit, doesn't laugh, just lets himself be led away by Spencer, who is definitely not smirking at all. He is actually  _narrowing his eyes at Bob._  Brendon looks concerned. His lower lip gets pouty when he makes that face, he thinks, I'd really like to lick it.

"So, uh, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to catch a movie?" Fuck. He had been going to go for the mini-golf idea. 

"Me and you? As in, maybe, a date of some kind?" He's  _biting_ his lip now. It’s so unfair. How is Bob supposed to concentrate?

"Uh yeah. Tonight?" He totally meant to say Tuesday, or next week. 

A slow grin spreads over Brendon's face.

"Lead me to your movie, Bob."

"Cool. I'll meet you at Asylum at seven?" He's really trying not to grin like a dork and failing.

"See you there."

He manages not to trip over anything on his way out. He's very proud.

  ** _Sometimes you can’t choose a hoodie on your own_** __

Bob is not usually a guy who worries about his clothing- but for some reason this shirt is just not sitting right. It's totally bugging him, and he's been trying to decide on what hoodie to wear for half an hour.

Frank slaps at his hands.

"You look great, Bob. Brendon is totally going to be swooning into your arms like a hallmark heroine in no time."

"I'm beginning to regret telling you about this," he grumbles "You're both enjoying it entirely too much."

He had text Gerard after asking Brendon out because Gerard was, after all, sort of like the yenta in all this business. He and Frank had been waiting outside his apartment block by the time he got home. The two of them are almost as excited as Bob.

Gerard has that 'concerned' wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"We just want you to be happy, Bob. You deserve a nice guy."

"Yeah dude, you're awesome, Brendon's awesome. You both deserve it."

 Frank is also a member of the Brendon fan club. At Ray’s party, he had stayed sober with Gerard, hung out in the garden while Gerard smoked. Frankie is a fan of anyone who treats Gerard right.

They don't mention Mark, and Bob is grateful for it. It's only really Gerard who knows how bad things got with him towards the end, which means Frank probably has some idea. Gerard picks imaginary lint off of Bob's hoodie. Bob isn't entirely sure that he might not cry. Bob once saw Gerard cry during an episode of Barney the purple dinosaur.  He wasn’t even drunk at the time. So he lets Gerard fuss without rolling his eyes too much, and when he punches Frankie's shoulder he doesn't even give him a dead arm.

They both stand at the front steps of his apartment to wave him off.  They look like the world's most goth my two dads possible. He envies and feels sorry for any kid they ever adopt in equal measure. He shakes his head to himself and heads for Asylum.

  ** _In which Andy Hurley’s name is taken in vain and there is a date_** __

As he walks, he thinks about how he’d met Mark, way back in the day when they’d sit in Miss Helena’s garden and smoke and read comics. Mark had been new, and interesting. Interesting enough that Bob had followed him to Chicago. His mom had disliked Mark from the off- Bob had dismissed it thinking she wouldn’t like any guy he dated because they were just that- guys. But in the end his Mom had been right. Luckily she was too nice to say so when he called and told her he was coming home.

By the time he gets to there, he’s half worried that Brendon won’t show.  But then he sees a flash of a lavender hoodie and red-glasses, and he knows its Brendon. Who else does he know who wears jeans that tight? Bob wonders if his friends helped dress  _him._  He wouldn’t actually put it past Spencer Smith, mind you, from the look on his face earlier.  He gives a little wave as he spots Bob, smiling.  Bob kind of wants Brendon to always smile at him like that. He’s really gorgeous when he smiles- all full lips and white teeth. They say hello in that awkward way that two people alone for the first time have. Will we hug? No. What?

“Do you know what movie we’re going to see?” Brendon has his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking cold despite the mildness of the day.

“Ratatouille is playing, still. I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Oh cool. Greta in work went to see it and she said it was amazing. Better than Finding Nemo even.”

“No way. That movie rules.”

Brendon’s expression tells him that he just scored major brownie points.

“Oooh, are we going to the movie place with the actual, artery clogging butter?”

“If you mean the one on the next block then yep.”

“Oh  _awesome.”_

“So were Ryan and Spencer as excited about the fact we’re going out tonight as Frankie and Gerard?”

 Brendon, who knows Gerard well enough by now, ducks his head. Bob can see the slight smirk on his face as he looks at the pavement.

“Yeah, they were pretty excited. I also thought Jon was going to burst my ribs or something. Dude hugged me, in like, the sprit of congratulations.”

Bob can’t help but laugh at Brendon’s wry tone.

“Well, I’m pretty happy to be here, if that helps.”

“So am I.”

Before Bob can say anything else, they’re at the movie theatre and splitting up to get tickets and popcorn.

Bob’ still in the ticket line when Brendon comes back carrying a bucket of popcorn and two sodas which may actually be bigger than he is.

  
"Did you get butter?"

"Of course, what do you think I am? Andy Hurley, vegan ninja?"

The girl at the ticket counter is obviously amused by them, and ups them to premier seats at no extra charge.  When they get into the darkness of the theatre, Bob experiences seating-related angst- to sit at the back or in the middle? Luckily, Brendon doesn't actually seem to care and stakes out two seats at the back.  Total make-out territory. 

Ratatouille was totally the right choice. Brendon is laughing in all the right places and Bob can see the flash of his teeth in the dim light. Bob would be laughing too, if he could even pretend to concentrate on the movie. But all he can really think about is the warmth of Brendon's thigh next to his and the skin of Brendon's neck. Their hands keep brushing as they go for popcorn. It's getting pretty desperate, and he considers trying the old yawn and stretch move. As he's considering, Brendon yawns and stretches his arms a little, draping one arm along Bob's back and leaning on his shoulder. Bob can't help but laugh and turn his face into Brendon's hair, before snuggling into his arm and settling in to watch the movie. When his hand brushes Brendon's free one, he holds it.

  
It could be awkward after that when the lights go up, but Brendon seems to be happy, so Bob decides that awkwardness is for losers and keeps holding Brendon's hand. As he walks with Brendon towards Asylum, Bob decides to tell Brendon some ridiculous story involving Ray Toro, an octopus and Gerard spending the night in a jail cell. He doesn't really want to go to Asylum- chances of being alone with Brendon there are practically nil. He wouldn't put it past Pete to have dragged Patrick down there to pounce on them when they walk in. He wants to talk to Brendon for a while. Ask about his family, his room-mates. What is favourite colour is. How does he feel about cats? Marvel or DC?

"Let's not go to Asylum. I have the feeling that Spence and Ryan will be there, and I'm kind of enjoying having you all to myself." Brendon is looking up at him sort of shyly. They're still holding hands.

"Where do you want to go?"

"There's the diner round the corner? Ryan refuses to go there because he has a crush on the waitress and he gets all shy."

"Sounds good to me." 

Milly's Diner looks like the Grease set designer took one last commission before retirement. Bob used to come here all the time with Mikey- Gerard too, when they could get him to leave the basement. They do the most awesome vanilla milkshakes Bob has ever had. Brendon waves to the waitress, whose nametag reads 'Keltie'. She waves back, looking happy, and comes over to take their order.

"Hey there, B. How's life treating you?"

"Can't complain right now. Keltie, this is Bob."

She nods in his direction and readies her pen.

"What can I get you two tonight? The burgers are always tasty."

Brendon orders a burger and a vanilla shake. Bob just shrugs and says he'll have the same. He feels relaxed like he hasn't in a while. 

"Do you know someone everywhere?" He's shaking his head, amused.

"Not  _everywhere,_  but I like to talk to people. Sometimes, you know, just randomly. But you meet really good people that way sometimes. Take Keltie for example- she's lovely."

Bob has to admit she is.

"Is she the one Ryan has a crush on?"

"Oh yeah. He thinks she's amazing. Won't come and talk to her though. Too shy, I guess."

"He does seem that way." Bob has met Ryan Ross exactly once, at Ray's party. He seemed nice enough, if a bit distant. Spent most of the party talking in an intensely drunken way to William Beckett about proper scarf wearing.  He'd barely said hello to Bob when Brendon introduced them.

"Anyway, never mind about Ryan. What brings you back to the Garden State, Bob?"

Bob runs his hand across his scalp, thinks for a second about how to answer.

"Well, like Gerard said, they cut the music funding, so boom went about $2000 of my scholarship...but I would have found a way to stay on I guess, if I had really wanted to. Truth is I wanted a new start. The guy I was living with was kind of hassling me- we used to be a thing, then we weren't, then he wanted to be again. Wouldn't leave it alone, so I took him back a while, then he cheated. Then with the scholarship...seemed like a sign."

"So you came back to Jersey?"

"Yeah. Montclair has a good program, and my family and friends are here, really."

"Well, not to sound selfish or anything, but I'm glad you came."

Bob is thankful he isn't the blushing kind of guy, because if he was, he totally would be.

"Well, aren't you two the cutest thing?"

It's Keltie, weighed down by burgers. Brendon, who is the type of guy to blush, has gone red.

Keltie laughs. "You two just keep on doing what you were doing. Your shakes will only be a minute."

Bob can't help but laugh with her- they really are one step away from a single-shake-with-two-straws-loving-gaze type of deal. 

When their shakes are on the table and Keltie has gone off to serve another table, Bob is still grinning.

"So how did you end up here? Nevada's quite a ways from Jersey."

"That's kind of the point."

"Oh?"

"My family are um, Mormon? And they don't appreciate the gay. They haven't disowned me or anything but Nevada is not the most comfortable place to be. Plus, Ryan and Spence were coming here anyway so I applied."

"Wow. That's pretty cool- the being here with Ryan and Spencer, not the thing with your parents."

"Yeah. They've been friends forever, you know? But they always manage to avoid giving me the whole third wheel feeling. Plus Spencer is like, crazy protective of both of us. Like- he's just one of the best people I know."

"He's not going to come after me, is he?"

"You're okay. Jon Walker vouched for you. Also Gerard and everyone else I know who has ever met you." He pauses. "They all told me that I should ask you out. I was going to. But you got there first."

"You could still, you know, ask me out. On another date, if you wanted." He looks down at his food, and he hears Brendon hum a little.

"Bob, would you like to go out again? Say, any time, as soon as possible?"

Bob summons up enough confidence to tease. He knows he's smirking.

"And where would you be taking me, Urie? Where could live up to the awesome of Pixar?"

"I think you would make a great mini-golfer?" 

"I think I can handle that."

"Awesome."  Brendon actually looks relieved. "You know what? It’s a pirate mini-golf." 

"Do we have to wear eyepatches?"

"I don't think so, but I think you'd rock the hat."

After that they actually eat some of the food, while Brendon tells Bob some story about Frank getting all pissed at some dude who tripped Brendon up while they were out somewhere. Brendon's hands are going everywhere as he acts out Frank trying to tackle some dude a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier. Dude was ready to punch Frank out, until Gabe Saporta 'mysteriously appeared out of nowhere' and tapped the dude on the shoulder.  Gabe is apparently fond of Brendon. Bob starts to feel an itch between his shoulder blades. Gabe Saporta is a great guy, but he has what Gerard aptly calls 'creepy rapist eyes'. Bob isn't actually a huge fan of Gabe, but he’s starting to like the way that Brendon tells a story, wide eyed and waving his hands.

Keltie comes and takes away their dishes, brings another shake. They keep talking about random things- about music and work and yes, Marvel vs. DC. It doesn't seem like they've been there long, but when Bob finally checks his watch it’s almost midnight. 

"It's nearly midnight. I have to get some sleep or else I'm not going to be able to stay awake tomorrow."

"God, I thought it was ten thirty or something!" Brendon pulls out his phone. "I forgot to turn it back on after the movie. There's probably sixty texts from Ryan wondering if you've murdered me."

He laughs. "There's five from Ryan, two from Spence and an IM from Jon with a picture of a Starbucks cup. I had better get back."

"I'll walk you back."

"Nah, we live in opposite directions. Walk me to Asylum though?"

He finishes off his shake and nods. They pay the bill and offer to walk with Keltie, but she has a ride waiting for her.

As they walk back to Asylum, Bob realises that he's actually sorry the night is over. He's had a great time. So when they finally reach Asylum's now-shuttered doors he feels like lingering, like standing here for a while more with Brendon under the yellow lights.

"So. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I uh, have a meeting with my piano teacher. He wants me to do this thing next week, but I'll see you at lunch?"

"Yeah."

They both shuffle on their feet slightly, and eventually Brendon huffs out a breath and puts his hands on Bob's chest. They're nearly the same height, which is a shock, almost. Brendon looks as if he should be smaller. But that's the only thought he has time for before Brendon tilts his head and presses his lips to Bob's. They're warm and slightly sweet from the milkshake, and it takes a moment before Bob's hands come up to rest on Brendon's forearms, resisting the urge to just pull him close. Almost as soon as he's started to get into it- it's over.

Brendon pulls back, and his face is flushed.

"I just sort of had to do that, but I really should go now." He says, not making a move out of Bob's grip.

"That would involve me letting go now, wouldn't it?"

"Yep, although you can definitely, um, do that again next time."

Bob hangs on for a second or two more before letting go. He's man enough to admit that he's looking at Brendon's ass as he walks away.

  
 **_In which a veneer of domesticity is applied_ **

His phone, of course, was buzzing in his pocket all last night. He deletes most of the messages except Gerard's as he eats breakfast. He thinks about what to text back all through his first cup of coffee, but eventually settles on a smiley face. Gerard will get it- besides, he's pretty sure Gerard and Brendon have class together today anyway. He calls his mom- he'd been in the process of selling this place way back when he and Mark split but he's glad now that he didn't- she needs to speak to some lawyers and he needs to sign some stuff. Then he calls Ray and asks to borrow the van again. He desperately needs some shit from Ikea. His Aunt May loved doilies and the colour pink. Bob is sure that those are valid decorating choices, as long as he doesn't have to look at the end result.

Ray arrives on time (Ray is always on time) with Brendon, Gerard and Patrick Stump in tow. Bob climbs in the back seat with Gerard and Brendon. Gerard has thoughtfully let Brendon sit in the middle.

"What do you need to get?" Gerard looks very earnest.

"Things to put my stuff in, new sheets, a new bed, and possibly a new rug."

Patrick and Gerard immediately begin to formulate a finely calibrated plan of attack which involves far too much interior design terminology for Bob's liking. Brendon nudges him in the side.

"Dude, you have my admiration. Ikea frightens me."

"It  _is_  vaguely like a labyrinth."

"Exactly, but at the heart of Ikea there is no Bowie, only hotdogs."

"I do need a new bed though." It sort of slips out before Bob engages his brain, and he's pretty sure he may be bright red right now.

Brendon doesn't say anything, just grins and looks out of the window.

Ray meets his eyes in the mirror and smirks.

Ikea is indeed a soulless labyrinth. Even Patrick, who can actually get Pete Wentz to play nice occasionally, looks scared. Brendon and Gerard are clinging to each other as they examine some of the 'ugliest fabric I have ever seen this is so  _painful'_. Ray's hair looks as if it had a fight with a humidifier and the humidifier won.

All he has on the trolley are some flimsy shelving units and a set of tupperware.

They agree to a strategic split - Ray and Gerard will go and find the hot dogs, Patrick will try and find a couple of lamps that won't actively make the more artistic members of the party want to die, and Bob and Brendon are going to go and find a bed.

He's in a daze- one moment Ray and Gerard are saying 'hot dogs' and the next Brendon is looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way to the beds. So he does, and keeps nodding while Brendon extols the virtues of an Ikea mattress.  He apparently has one, and so does Spencer. Bob is still processing 'bed' and 'Brendon'.

He's pretty sure people have climbed Kilimanjaro in the time it takes for them to find the beds. Choosing the frame is easy- a dark wood king size, long enough that his feet don't dangle off the end. 

"What do you think?"

"It's nice. What colour are you going to do the walls in the bedroom?"

"Green. Um, sort of dark?"

"Oh like a forest green."

"Yeah."

"It should really go well. Will you still have enough space for a closet?"

"Oh the closets are built-in."

"Then you're golden. This is really nice."

Bob kind of wants to press for more, he really wants Brendon to like it, for whatever reason. Least of all that he's hoping he can get Brendon into it, really soon. But he just smiles and writes the number down.

The mattresses are a different story. He genuinely has no idea what to choose.  He just sort of stands there a minute and feels confused until Brendon laughs.

"Bob, it's a mattress. It can't bite you."

"No, but there are so many. How is a dude supposed to choose?"

"Um, like this?" Brendon is still laughing as he falls back on one of the mattresses. 

"Come on, Bob Bryar, lie down with me."

He leans up on his elbows and pats the mattress. Bob doesn't have to be told twice.

He lies down carefully and turns his head to face Brendon.

"Now what?"

"Now you have to bounce on it a bit. Do you prefer squishy mattresses or firm?"

Somehow, Brendon is still keeping a straight face.

"I like my mattresses a bit firmer than most I guess."

Bob plays along. He's kinda getting his old groove back. This whole flirty innuendo thing is much less awkward and sweaty than he remembers.

"Well this one just won't do. Too soft."

Brendon bounces experimentally before sitting up.

"Come Bob Bryar, let us embark on our epic quest!"

He points dramatically towards the next mattress. Bob has never actually seen anyone  _leap_ anywhere, but leap Brendon does. Past a very bemused pair of lesbians, to another mattress which looks the same as the first but which the sign assures them is the firmest in the range.

He flings himself down on to it with a sigh and grins up at Bob with his hands crossed over his stomach. There's something about him that requires  words like fling and leap and grin, something big and alive that makes Bob happy just to be near it. He grins back and lies down next to Brendon without having to be asked. It really is very firm, and very comfortable. He turns his head and keeps grinning, and yes, they are lying on a mattress together in Ikea grinning like idiots. Bob is completely happy with that.

The lesbians are giggling, but that's okay too.

By the time they reunite with the others, Bob has managed to buy all his furniture, and Patrick has found some vaguely acceptable lamps. Gerard and Ray have managed to actually get everyone a hot dog. It may in fact be the most successful Ikea trip in Bob's memory. No-one has argued or cried or gotten lost. Brendon is clearly a magical force for good. Bob's back, for one, will thank him.

While they're in the checkout queue, Brendon leans in to him ever so slightly. It's one of those leans that could mean 'hey yes I like you be my bf' or 'I am tired and you are tall'.  Bob takes the chance it’s the first and leans back a little, enough to take the weight. He rests his head on Brendon's shoulder a little. Gerard, who is holding about forty light bulbs and a small venus flytrap, is smiling a little smile of victory.

Of course though, they still have to actually put all the shit Bob bought together.

So Patrick calls in Joe and Andy, which automatically also summons Pete. Then Jon and Spencer show up with Greta. Ryan and Mikey both develop plans instantly the moment physical labour is involved so they're present only through texts such as 'make sure Brendon sweats' and 'please god don't let Gerard anywhere near a hammer'. Ryan had had a bad experience involving Gerard and DIY which involved 'fixing holes in my walls OH MY GOD'.

They eat noodles and hammer shit and carry Bob's new mattress up four flights of stairs. Brendon and Spencer have a 'manly man' contest, where they both act ridiculously macho while carrying exceptionally small objects and flexing practically non-existent biceps. By the time they're all done, Bob's face just hurts from smiling so fucking much. He feels like he's come home, like, these are his fucking _people_ right here. Who love him and carry crap for him and generally make doing this fun. He'd been so afraid that he would come home and this would have changed. Like maybe they would be different in some way that would make them, fuck, not be his friends anymore. And fuck if he doesn't know that he should have treated them better while he was in Chicago. Fuck if he shouldn't have driven out for Frankie's birthday and Gerard's art shows and Ray's home-made lasagne. 

But he's here now, and there are smiling, happy people in his home.

"Hey you."

It's Brendon, with a hand on his arm.

"You looked kind of deep in thought there."

"Just thinking about being happy."

"Just thinking about it or actually being it?" 

Bob allows himself a pause to actually think about that. Brendon is patient, and his hand stays on Bob's arm.

"Actually being happy. Thinking about being home."

"Cool. I'm glad you came back, if only for selfish reasons."

"I'm glad I came back."

Brendon tilts his head up and kisses him lightly.

"Listen, me and Spence promised to go with Ryan to this book signing thing that starts really fucking early tomorrow, so we have to go. But are you free tomorrow? I was thinking we could have that second date."

"No I uh, have to work. Friday?"

"Friday it is. Enjoy your mattress." His voice is lower on the last words, and his eyes linger.

Bob thinks  _I'd enjoy it more if you were with me_ but just nods. There's always Friday after all.

 **_Moving Onward, with a definite slant up_ ** __

  
If asked, Bob will definitely complain about work. The bands that play the Electro are usually just starting out and as such often they are awful enough to hurt him to his very soul. But Martin pays good wages and its great experience, so Bob just sucks up the crap and takes his paycheck.

Tonight, however, it's Pencey Prep rocking out in the Electro, and Bob couldn't be happier. Frank is on stage, spitting and snarling and generally being an amazing little fucked-up brat and Patrick is filling in the drummer spot temporarily. Which means that Gerard and Pete are out in the crowd  _somewhere,_ and if that isn't Ray Toro's afro he will eat Mikey's sweaty socks. Tomorrow he has a date with Brendon Urie, whom he is pretty sure is up for trying out that new mattress he braved Ikea for.

He turns up the volume and grins as Frank dives into the crowd.

 

His phone buzzes at lunch.

 _pick u up @ 7 bring ur eyepatch. Bden xoxo_ **__**

Brendon listens to Liz Phair. As Bob limbs in Brendon's shitty pea green Beatle, he recognises the sounds of 'Exile in Guyville'. Brendon is, indeed, humming '6"1".

"This place is a way out on the highway a little? But totally worth it. We took Ryan there last year for his birthday. I thought he was going to kill us."

"Why?"

"Hates his birthday. Hates it. He's a freak, but whatever."

"What did you do your last birthday?"

"We went into New York to see Avenue Q. Also Gerard and I went to the MOMA, during the day. What about you?"

"Uh, I was in the middle of breaking up on my last birthday. Mostly we yelled. But there was cake."  He can't quite look at Brendon as he says it - the highway becomes all of a sudden interesting.

"For your next birthday we'll all do something cool. Maybe we could have penguins involved somehow."

"Penguins are indeed cool, but I just want a barbecue or something. Kinda like old times."

Bob looks over then, and Brendon is frowning thoughtfully at the road.

"You okay?"

"Oh yeah, just concentrating. The turnoff is kinda annoying." He seems to shake whatever it was off and smiles again.

"Here we are, Bob Bryar, I hope you brought the eyepatch like I said."

He points, and Bob is confronted with a very large fake pirate ship. On a fake Island, surrounded by a fake lake. The first hole is a very large treasure map.

When he's finished gaping, he turns around to find that Brendon is in fact wearing an eyepatch.

And he brought a spare, just in case.

  
Bob may actually be having the most fun he's ever had with another human being.

They're walking around playing mini-golf really, really badly, and talking in terrible pirate accents.

"Ooo arr me matey, ye missed!"  Brendon manages to convince an employee to let him borrow a plush parrot, which he proceeds to have conversations with regarding Bob's bad golfing. He's named it Spencer, and declares it an exceptionally bitchy parrot.

Bob laughs so hard he completely misses the target, and loses by 30. Brendon, at 23, wins.

"Hah! I totally won. Just call me the Pirate King."

Bob rolls his eyes, but grins.

"How will I ever top this for our next date?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something. But this date isn't over yet! I'm  _starving._ "

They drive back to the strains of Emmylou Harris singing about longing for somebody's kiss. Bob can kind of relate at this point.  By the time they get to Asylum, Bob has a mental list of music to share with Brendon. Alison Krauss and Robert Plant,  Dave Carter and Tracey Grammer. Frankie always calls it 'the softer side' of his music collection. The softer side of Frankie's music collection involves Def Leppard. Bob is sometimes embarrassed to know him.

As the car engine quiets, Bob fantasises briefly about parking with Brendon, putting Hem on the CD player and making out like sixteen year olds.  But they promised that they'd show tonight, and both of them are suckers for their friends.  

Brendon is smiling gently, looking into the Asylum window. He shakes his head and his smile widens.

"You ready to go in and face the music?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He's smiling back.

Asylum is, of course, full of their friends. Even Brian, the owner, is peering around to catch sight of them.

Bob is aware, very suddenly, of how close he is to Brendon, how his hand has settled at the small of Brendon's back. That they have officially, in the eyes of their friends, become a couple. In a couple of months they will be 'Bob and Brendon' in the way that there is a 'Pete and Patrick' or an 'Alicia and Mikey'.  This thought doesn't bother him at all.   He looks at Brendon and sees the same thought reflected in his face. 

Ray's smile at the sight of them is really fucking huge.

"Hey you guys, Bob and Brendon totally showed."

"I expected that you guys would sneak off to make out and shit." Pete has somehow obtained caffeine. Patrick nods in their direction, with what Bob guesses is an indulgent sigh.

Gerard is  _beaming._

Bob loves him so much.

"Frankie couldn't make it. But he says that Pencey are doing another gig next week and you guys should come."

"Yeah. We're all gonna go. Group invasion." Jon's trying for casual but he's a massive Pencey fan.  When he's realised his boyfriend's friend was friends with the lead singer's boyfriend? Brendon told Bob that Spencer almost broke a rib laughing.

"Totally. Frankie will be so pleased."

Ray laughs.

"Dude, we should take Linda. Frankie would just die."

"Nevermind Frankie, I hope to actually be able to touch my boyfriend at some point without worrying about his mother."

"Hey, where did Ryan and Spence go?" Bob manages to score an armchair and Brendon perches on the arm. 

"Uh, Spencer has some test thing tomorrow for that horrendous calculus class he takes, and Ryan is channeling his inner child or something. You know those phases he goes through where he forgets to eat and wash?"

"Please don't tell me he’s smoking cloves again."

"I did catch a distinct whiff."

"Thank god Spence is there. The last time he fell asleep smoking one and nearly killed us all."

And that’s how it goes for the next two hours. By the time everyone starts leaving, Bob is drifting gently, a hand on Brendon’s back. Not really talking anymore. Just listening, taking it in.

 “Hey there.” It’s Brendon, shaking him softly. Only Gerard and Ray are left, talking quietly to Brian on the other side of the coffee bar.

  “You look kind of beat.”

 “All that piracy really took it out of me.”

 “You know, you haven’t asked me out on another date yet, so I’m just going to go ahead. Terribly forward of me, I know.”

 Bob kind of wants to pull Brendon into his lap right now. Partly to cuddle and partly for more sex type things.  He just laughs a little and nods, trying to ignore the way Brendon bites his lip.

 “So how would you feel about a free concert at the park? Picnic, classical music, complete lack of Pete Wentz…”

 “I would feel pretty good about that. Also, Emmylou Harris is playing next month. I could get some tickets, if you were into that sort of stuff.”

 “Yeah. Yeah I am, I would love that.”

 “Listen, I’m gonna catch a ride back with Ray. You go and save Spencer from Ryan and his clove cigarettes.”

 “That is such a good idea. You are so full of good ideas tonight.” Brendon stretches and says his goodbyes to Ray and Gerard.

 “I’ll walk you to your car.”

 “Oh Bob Bryar, you are a gentleman. Frankie was totally lying to me.”

 They bump shoulders on the way back to the car, and when Brendon turns to say goodbye, Bob catches his face in his hands and kisses him very, very slowly. Brendon’s hands end up on Bob’s hips, stroking very softly.

 When Bob pulls away, Brendon’s lips are swollen. He runs his tongue over them, and it’s all Bob can do not to just invite him back up to his apartment already. To feel Brendon’s skin. But he doesn’t, and Brendon gets in his car and leaves.

 Ray raises an eyebrow as he walks back in alone, and Gerard looks slightly approving.

 

 **_In which The Past is discussed, exes are dissed, and Gerard is an excellent baker_ ** **__**

Brian is closing up, so they end up back at Gerard’s, drinking his engine-oil coffee and eating what have to be the best brownies Bob has ever had, including his mother’s, though he’d never say so to her face.

 The house was once Miss Helena’s, and Bob has spent so much time here that he knows every scratch on the table, every groove in the floorboards. The kitchen, dimly lit by a single over head lamp, is where he sat and told Gerard and Ray that he was gay, where he told them that he was leaving Belleville. It was where he was sitting when he heard that Miss Helena had died.

 When his mother moved here from Ohio, young and pregnant, Miss Helena and Donna Way were the first people to stop by and offer some help. Come on over for a talk, a coffee. Do you have anyone to go to the doctor’s with you?  There had been others, later, but Helena and Donna were the first, and Bob’s mother had never forgotten that, not once.

 Bob grew up in this kitchen almost as much as his mother’s.

 Gerard and Ray are content to sit with him and drink from chipped mugs until he finally gets around to talking. It’s the first time they’ve really been alone in the three weeks he’s been back.

 “I missed this place.”

 “You’re always welcome, you know that. Always have been.” Gerard doesn’t say that it was Bob who stayed away. He doesn’t have to.

“I know. I’m sorry, for you know, being a jerk.”

 Ray puts down his mug. His expression is one Bob is familiar with- it’s the expression he gets when he is considering how honest to be with someone. Like something he might say could hurt.

 “We understood. We didn’t like it, but we understood. We were sorry about Mark, but we weren’t surprised. He was bad news, and he treated you badly. It was a sad thing, Bob, that you thought he was worthy of you.”

 

Bob runs his fingers over the scratches in the oak.

 “I knew it was a bad idea the minute we got there. It was only my sheer fucking stubborn that kept me away so long.”

“We missed you, and we’re glad you came home.”

 Ray smiled, and Gerard patted his hand.

 “Now you have to tell us something.”

 “What?” Mock warily.

 “How are things with Brendon?”

 Because it’s Ray and Gerard and because he kind of fucking owes them, he decides to tell the truth.

 “I really, really like him. I mean, we’ve only known each other what? Two and a half weeks? We’ve been on two dates.  Half by the way, of the second was spent with you guys.”

 “And?” Ray Toro is a giant gossip whore. He even reads  _Star_ magazine. Bob’s seen it in his toilet.

 “And I think I will continue to see him in a date-like fashion for the foreseeable future.”

“You’re pretty serious about this, aren’t you?”

 Gerard is right; Bob has never been a casual guy. If he likes you enough to date you once, it means he actually really likes you.  If he dates you twice, you can call it going steady and start picking out your china. Gerard knows it as well, the bastard.

 “I’m really glad for you, Bob. And Brendon. He deserves to be happy as much as you do. His last boyfriend was an asshole, and his parents are giant fucking assholes too, from what I’ve heard.”

 Ray yawns massively.

 “Sorry you guys. I’m gonna go crash in the spare. Tell me everything tomorrow though.”

 He shuffles off, waving goodnight.

 Gerard refills the coffee before saying anything else.

 

"From what I can tell, Brendon is just as into you as you are to him, and that makes me happy. Don't wait around, Bob. "

Bob draws breath to reply, but there's a clatter and a bang and there's Mikey Way himself. Smiling at the sight of them, now that they're all home.

He sleeps on Gerard's couch that night, too lazy to go home, and stops by his mom's house in the morning. 

As per usual she's up and ready by nine, and as soon as he walks in the door he can smell the coffee and toast wafting from the kitchen.

His mother is a tiny woman, compared to him, thin and spare where he is muscular. Her eyes are the same blue as his though, and her hair was the same shade of strawberry blond before the gray set in.  
He watches her for a second, absorbed in her morning paper, before deciding not to give her a fright. So he rattles the door a little louder and waits until she raises her head.

"Hey mom. I was a just over at Gee's house. Thought I'd stop by."

"I'm just about to go over to Ann's, honey, as soon as I finish this coffee. But you can walk me over there if you like."

"Sure.  It's on my way. I won't come in though, my cheeks still haven't recovered from the last time."

He waits for her to finish her coffee quietly, glancing at the sports pages. She had had a boyfriend once who liked the sports pages and had tried in vain to convince Bob that he should like them too. The poor guy had spent hours trying to coax Bob into football, baseball, anything, in fact, that could be considered a sport.   He never took to it, but he got into the habit of looking at the sports pages anyway to keep the guy happy.

"How is Gerard, anyway? He still seeing Linda's boy?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. They're still going out."

"Is he doing well in college?"

"Oh yeah. Brilliant. He's going to be putting a show on soon."

"How nice. And Mikey?"

"Who knows with Mikey. He could be majoring in evil genius studies for all he says about school."

She laughs and starts putting her coat on.

"I saw Mrs Toro yesterday at the bakery. Raymond's such a lovely boy."

Bob rolls his eyes and she flings some gloves at him.

"I'm a Mom, Robert Bryar, I'm allowed to say things like that."

He just grins at her and holds the gloves out to her. He ends up carrying two casserole dishes all the way to Ann's and getting his cheeks pinched again.

 **_I want sometimes gets (or, I would rather be with you)_ **

After escaping from Ann's grabby clutches, he makes his way back to his own apartment and prepares for a serious night of x-box and pizza. What he really wants to do is call Brendon and ask him over, ask him out. Back to Milly's, or on the comfort of his sofa.

He's just about to start a game of Helo when his phone starts buzzing. Mikey's changed his ringtones to bad covers by _American Idol_ contestants. Some dude is murdering The Beatles, so he doesn't even look at the screen- he just wants to make that shit stop.

"Hello?"

"Hey Bob, how are you?"

His brain starts going  _Brendon, fuck fuck fuck BRENDON_ , but he manages to reply.

"Fine. Just playing x-box. Eating junk, you know. How are you?"

"Bored. Really, mind-numbingly bored. Everyone's doing some project thing that the fascists in social science imposed on us. I told Spence that Ryan taking Anthro 101 was a bad idea."

"You don't take that class?"

"No, they take it while I take extra instruments. I would just go practice but they're all concentrate-y."

"Is that even a word?"

"Do I look like an English major to you? Ask Wentz."

"Oh god, no."

Brendon laughs, and Bob wishes he was there with him. They could snuggle and play Guitar Hero. They could eat pizza and make out.

"I tried playing scrabble with him once. It was awful. And Patrick- for a little dude he has a lot of rage."

"So what you're saying is, you called because you were bored as Pete is bad at scrabble?"

"No. Well, yes. Yes and no. Yes, I'm bored, yes, Pete is bad at Scrabble. But no- that's not the main reason I called. I  _called_ because I didn't see you today and I wanted to see you but then I thought oh god Brendon, don't be lame. So I called you, instead. But I really wanted to come over and see you."

Bob's brain starts playing catch-up.  _He wants to see you, he likes you. A lot.  
_  
"No, no you're not. It's not lame. I uh, wanted to see you too."

"Cool."

"I would actually rather be spending time with you than my x-box."

"You know, Ray would say they should take away your man-card for that."

"I don't think I ever really had one."

"Nah, me neither. I don't actually even know anyone who does."

"Not even Ray."

"Nope. Jon Walker is the most likely candidate. But since he's not asshole..."

Bob spits the diet coke in his mouth all over a stray doily. Brendon is totally laughing at him, fucker.

"The first time I saw you I thought you might be a man-card carrier. I thought, wow, he's hot but he'll totally dunk my head in a toilet. Then Gerard was all OMG HAI BOB and I knew that you weren't."

"I have never dunked a guy's head in a toilet for thinking I'm hot. Mind you, that doesn't happen often, so there you go."

"Dude, shut up. We're both totally hot. We are, in fact, one smoking hot couple. Joe Trohman even says so."

"Oh well, if Joe Trohman says so, it must be true."

"Yeah. The dude knows his shit."

 “His weed, you mean.”

 “Did he ever tell you what he’s making for art this semester?”

 “No, and I’m not sure I want to know.”

 “Dude, don’t hate! It’s a  _Barbie hair rug.”_

“If we were texting, this is where I would use the letters oh em gee in capital letters to signal the fact that that is crazy.”

 “It’s some sort of statement about feminism and consumerism and some other isms, at least that’s what he said. But mostly I think he just wants one and was disappointed it hadn’t been invented yet.”

 Bob waits for the laughter from that to die off a little, before taking a deep breath.

 “You could still come over, you know. We don’t have class tomorrow or anything.”

 Brendon’s silent for a moment and Bob is afraid then, until he hears Brendon’s answering sigh.

 “I think…I think that would be good. I’ll be over in say, twenty minutes?”

 “Yeah.”

 If Bob was a girl, he would use the twenty minutes to maybe check for excess body hair, change into some sexy undies and flat-iron his fringe. As he’s a guy, owns only black boxers and has a pretty sweet beard, he does none of these things.

 He does, however, call Gerard. Whose line, dammit, is engaged. So he calls Ray Toro. Not because Ray is like, a second-best or anything, but Ray is actually pretty straight, and Bob always feels a bit less awkward talking to Gerard about stuff like this.

But it’s a fucking  _emergency,_ and Bob needs moral support  _right now._

 “Ray?”

 “Um, Yes?” He sounds vaguely suspicious.

 “I just asked Brendon over, and I really think that I might end up having sex with him.”

 “Okay…and is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

 “Good thing, I think. But I just had to check that I’m not making a huge mistake.”

 “You’re not.”

“Okay.”

 “Okay. Um, I was going to say have a good time, but that sounds creepy, so I’ll settle for see you later.”

 And then he hangs up.

 On second thoughts, maybe he should check for any excess body hair. It’s a shame he can’t see his own back in a mirror properly.

He resists the urge to pace a little, to fluff cushions or do something,  _anything,_ to distract himself from the fact that Brendon is on his way over.

Finally, the doorbell goes, and there's Brendon Urie, flushed and messy-haired. 

Before Bob can say anything Brendon is inside, backing him up against the wall and kissing him.  Bob only just manages to get the door shut behind him before every piece of his consciousness is taken over by the feel of Brendon's lips on his. 

His hands twist a little at the side before he lets them rest on Brendon's hips. Brendon's hands are cupping his face, as if almost to hold him there.

Brendon pulls away, a little breathless, even more flushed. His hands go down to hold Bob's.

"Sorry, sorry, Bob. I've been thinking about that the whole way over."

"Don't say  _sorry._  “Bob says, and before Brendon's face can crumple he leans in and kisses him lightly.

"Oh good. We're on the same page, then." Brendon says, their faces still close.

"I think so." His stomach does a little flip. "I have this new mattress from Ikea. This really hot guy helped me pick it out. I'm kind of hoping he's going to try it out with me."

"Is this guy your boyfriend?"

"I think so. I hope so."

"Then I'm sure if you ask him real nice..." Brendon's lips are a breath away from his. 

"Brendon Urie, would you like to go to bed with me?"

"Why Bob Bryar, I thought you'd never ask."

 **_Right where you’re standing (yeah)_ **

They bypass the living room completely, and start shedding clothes as they go along the hall. Brendon's shirt narrowly misses knocking over a lamp, Bob loses his somewhere near the sofa.  Kissing, tangling fingers, laughing softly as they drop shirts and hop out of shoes. Bob pauses briefly to turn off his cell phone, before abandoning it on top of his jeans at the door of his bedroom. When he looks up, Brendon is gazing at him with eyes that look about two shades darker than they did a minute ago.

Brendon is already standing in only his boxers. The pale expanses of his skin are marked by several tattoos, and Bob knows his eyes are obvious as they travel down the lean lines of Brendon's body. They linger on the evidence that Brendon is really, really into this.

"Jesus, Bob, get over here."

He goes with out thinking twice, and then they're skin on skin, kissing again.  Brendon's hands are  _everywhere._ Beneath his own hands is the hot skin of Brendon's back, the swell of his ass still covered by thin cotton.

Then Brendon's backing away a little, and his fingers hook into Bob's boxers, pushing them down. Bob is happy to copy this idea, and then he starts to back Brendon up towards to bed, because he's really like to get there sometime before he comes all over himself. He's been hard since they kissed in the hall, and keyed up since the fucking  _phone call; add_  to that it's been months since anybody touched him at all.

And there's Brendon, falling onto Bob's white sheets, naked and hard. It's like some sort of dream reality- one where Bob is quite happy with the lights on and he doesn't feel self conscious at all.  Brendon reaches up and pulls him in to kiss again, rocking his hips up. His dick drags along Bob's thigh, and Bob groans at the feel of it. It's electrifying, scary, and fantastic. He grins down at Brendon and aligns their bodies, so that when Brendon rocks his hips up again they both get the same slippery, fantastic friction.

"Bob you're a  _genius._ Do that some more. And kiss me while you're at it."  Brendon's mock demanding, with a pout and breathy tone. He snaps his hips on the last word and groans. His legs fall open wider and Bob settles there, moving slowly as Brendon pushes up kissing him sloppily, teeth scraping slightly along Bob's neck. His hands, his beautiful fucking hands, are holding Bob's face, like he can't stop looking there for even a minute.

 It blurs then, and he's looking down at Brendon as he throws his head back and groans, twisting his hips up sharply and coming all over them both.

"God, Brendon, that's so hot, you're so..." 

He grinds down himself, into the sticky mess of come and sweat and heat, and he knows that he's groaning and Brendon's hand is  _right there_  now, stroking firmly. He's whispering dirty, dirty things in Bob's ear,  _come for me now_  and _I want you to fuck me soon, god, how are you so fucking gorgeous right now?_

 __Then he's coming, all over Brendon's hand and the sheets and Brendon's chest. Brendon, Brendon Brendon.

  
"I think you broke me." Brendon's lying on Bob's bed, mostly clean and no longer sticky. One arm is thrown across his face dramatically, while Bob leans his head across Brendon's chest, idly counting the beats of his heart.

"I think you'll find it's the other way around. I'm a delicate flower, you know."

Brendon laughs, and Bob can feel the vibrations under his cheek.  One hand is in his hair, and he wishes he'd left it a little longer just so for that.

"Maybe you are a delicate flower, Bob Bryar, but don't worry. I'm careful."

Bob turns his face up to kiss Brendon lightly.

"I believe you."

  
In the past, Bob always expected mornings after to be bone-crushingly awkward. But it isn't- just the same way that nothing else Brendon does makes him feel awkward.

He lies there, warm and happy, content to watch Brendon sleep for at least a little while. He has to work tonight, unfortunately not with Pencey. He considers asking Brendon, but Mikey went to see the 'pile of shit' band a couple weeks ago, and their fans are not gay-friendly types.  

Here are the things he notices about Brendon asleep: 

Brendon snuffles. Little wuffs of breath and a slight wrinkling of his nose make for maximum cuteness.

He also mumbles. Complete nonsense syllables mostly.

He doesn't cling. Bob likes that- the fact that their limbs and fingers touch but that he has enough space that he doesn't feel like he's too hot or trapped or anything like that.

He becomes momentarily distracted by the sight of a reddened place on Brendon's neck and feels himself blush. Beard burn.

"Bob Bryar, are you  _staring_ at me?"

 _Sleepy, cute boyfriend. Smiling at me._

 __"I was just thinking maybe I should shave. I gave you a bit of beard burn."

"Nooo. No shaving. It's mostly banned."

Bob raises an eyebrow.

Brendon stretches a little and grabs his glasses from where they were abandoned on the floor.

He positions them just so on his nose before making a show of considering Bob's face.

"I like your beard. It's a sexy beard. Some beards are unsexy, and therefore beard burn is unsexy. Your beard is sexy. A little bit of beard burn? In this case, quite sexy."

"You're a bit of a freak, aren't you?"

"Oh, completely. What time do you have to get up?"

"I don't, really. Not till tonight anyway."

" _Awesome._ "

Bob reaches up to pull Brendon's glasses off of his nose. It's possibly the sexiest thing he's ever done in his whole life.

Bob spends the next fifteen minutes fulfilling the first jerk off fantasy he ever had about Brendon, way back on the night of the party.  Brendon naked on his bed, legs spread as Bob lies between them, mouth on Brendon's dick, moving slowly up and down. He can feel the tremble in Brendon's thighs on one side of his face; Brendon gave up talking for moaning and grunting three minutes or so in. The only thing he says now is Bob's name. Bob has one hand on his own dick, jerking because seriously. So fucking hot.

Brendon pulls at his hair a little, and says god, Bob, now, and he pulls off enough so that he can watch Brendon come all over himself. 

He comes himself right then and there, Brendon's eyes following the movements of his hand.

They finally get out of bed around noon and consume a desultory breakfast of oatmeal and orange juice.  Their bare feet brush under the table, and Bob knows they're both grinning like idiots.

 **_Much Later… (a montage of us)_ **

They go on more dates. They see the concert at the park and they hang out with their friends and have mind bogglingly filthy, excellent sex.

One night they sit and play scrabble, passing a bottle of wine between them and  Brendon opens up about his family, about his sisters and his nephews and nieces that he never sees. It's the only time Bob ever sees him angry or approaching bitter. It's also the night that Bob looks at him and realises that he never, ever wants to make Brendon feel that way. He wants to be the one who stays.

He looks at Brendon and starts thinking about family.

  


  
He goes to see his Mom.

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to introducing me to your boyfriend." She's smiling as she says it, but Bob winces.

"So what's his name?" She's making tea as she asks, bustling around.

"Brendon. His name is Brendon, he's twenty one, he's from Nevada and he's at College."

"Are his family in Nevada?"

"He doesn't really talk to them, Mom. They're very religious."

She turns to put the tea on the table and her eyes are soft. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Is he a good boy?"

"He is, Mom."

"Then you had better bring him around here so that I can meet him. I'll make dinner on Sunday and if you want you boys can come over."

"I'll ask him."  

"Is he good looking?"

"Mom!"

"Is my hair okay? Do I have anything in my teeth?"

"No. You do not have anything in your teeth. And your hair is fine."

"You say that now, but it could all go wrong at any time."

Brendon talks a lot with his hands, and Bob allows himself a moment of distraction watching Brendon's fingers before reaching out and straightening Brendon's glasses on his nose.

"You look good. My Mom will love you. You're awesome."

He kisses Brendon lightly and squeezes his hand. Brendon is flushed and smiling.

They drive to his Mom's in the Beatle, which has started to protest even louder than usual. He's not nervous about introducing the two of them at all, and he just smiles the way, humming along to whatever's on the radio. His Mom is going to  _love_ Brendon.

  
 ****

 **_After Much Dinner is had and Moms are appeased_ **

When asked (and he is asked) if he is afraid of Spencer Smith, Bob says no. But it's a filthy lie, because he's sure that Spencer is secretly a ninja, or possibly a spy. When asked about his thoughts on Ryan Ross, he will probably at this moment just frown and scratch his beard a little.

Something's been going on in the Brendon/Ryan/Spencer apartment that neither he nor Jon can really get a grip on at all. Whatever it is, it's making even Brendon snappy, and it's making Spencer scowl in a way that makes Bob want to frisk him for knives. He can't actually tell what Ryan thinks, because he never actually  _sees_ Ryan.

It's the one problem in the otherwise blissful land of BobandBrendon, happy gay boyfriends.  Ryan Ross is seemingly the only person in the whole of Jersey who does not want them to 'just, oh my god, get gay married already'.

So he isn't surprised when he arrives at Brendon's and hears raised voices from inside. Brendon might be a small guy, but he's tenacious, Bob will give him that. There's a fierceness to Brendon that Bob doesn't think other people see very often. Mostly Brendon just bounces back without actually  _pushing_  back. But not right now. Bob can see half of Ryan's face and all of Brendon's through the tiny window beside the door. Brendon looks angry, upset. Ryan is not meeting his eyes at all, just looking at a spot in the distance. Brendon's frustrated hands must be fluttering in the corners of his eyes.

He could leave, he could call Brendon and cancel, leave him to deal with this. It would be fine, Brendon would forgive him. But he doesn't. He knocks and waits for a minute until he hears the shuffling of someone grabbing a coat. It's Brendon, smiling only in the smallest way. A smile that means  _I'm not okay, but its not you_. Bob can't help it- he pulls Brendon close and hugs him tightly, just for a moment, until Brendon squeezes.  Brendon pulls back but keeps holding Bob's hand all the way to the park. He's quiet, thinking. Bob's fine with that- he's been known to be a bit non-verbal himself.

They meet up with Spencer and Jon by the ice-cream truck, Brendon pulling out one of his blindingly pretty smiles at the sight of his friends. They smile back, but Spencer's eyebrows betray the fact that he's not convinced by it at all. So Bob nods to Jon and they walk off a bit to buy the ice cream. When Bob looks back, Spencer has his arm around Brendon's shoulders as they sit on a bench, faces close.

"Ryan?" Jon has his hands full of ice-cream cones. If he's not careful he's going to get it all over his shirt.

"Who else?" Bob sighs. It sounds grouchy even to his own ears.

"Do you know what it was about?"

"Nah. Brendon didn't say."

"Probably the same thing it’s always about."  Jon sounds disappointed. 

"And that would be?"

"Ryan always finds something to disapprove of in Brendon's boyfriends."

"Why?"

"Because he does. He used to do the same to Spence all the time. When I came along I guess Spence told him where to get off."

"I think that might be what Brendon was doing before we left."

Jon's looking back at Spencer and Brendon while he talks. Brendon doesn't look upset anymore, just annoyed.

They take their boyfriends ice-cream and lounge in the sun. Brendon sprawls over Bob's chest, lazy-content. Spencer tells a story about the first year he knew Brendon. About the tiny student apartment, the first and only time they smoked weed. Bob thinks that Spencer may have the second prettiest smile in the world after Brendon's. It ties with Gerard's on his scale.

"And Brendon just would not stop giggling. He giggled for half an hour straight, easy. Ryan got so paranoid he locked himself in his room and I fell asleep." He laughs softly. “We were so cool."

"We  _were_ cool, Spencer Smith. I have the tattoos to prove it."

  


Spencer and Jon leave eventually, promising to text Brendon later.  Brendon goes quiet again for a few minutes after they leave, just happy to be there.

"It was about you." He says eventually, his fingers splayed over Bob's heart. "He always finds something he doesn't like about guys I date. When I was seeing Bill he complained Bill drank too much, when I was seeing Gabe, Gabe was too crazy. It wasn't like I was crazy in love with either of them but it was...irritating I guess."

Bob just tightens his arms around Brendon, sort of afraid that if he interrupts Brendon will stop talking.

"Then he started in on you, and I just, well, I just told him to shove it. I like you. More than I've liked anyone in a really long time. I mean...I think I might love you a little bit already."

He looks up into Bob's face, serious, nervous. He's looking for something in Bob's expression. He must find it- or maybe he just didn't find what he was afraid of. He smiles, big and real. Bob can't do anything in that moment but answer.

"That's good, Urie. Because I might be...kind of right there with you." He feels his own smile, the warmth of Brendon against him, and the lightness in his chest. He hadn't realised that he'd been afraid. 

"Good." Brendon huffs, looking like Bob feels. Happy, loved. "Ryan will get over the whole thing. He did with Spencer and Jon. He just needs a lady friend to make him less cranky."

His voice drops on the last two words, and the hand on Bob's chest moves with a bit more intent than is perhaps appropriate in a public park. He catches it in his own.

"What do you say we go back to my place?"

Brendon grins.

"What do you have in mind, Bryar? Would it involve sexytimes?"

"I can't believe I'm dating a guy who uses that word."

"Ah, see! You don't deny it though." He rubs his leg against Bob. "Let us go back to your love-nest and have sexytimes, Bob Bryar." Bob can't help but laugh as Brendon bounds up out of his grip and motions impatiently for Bob to stand.

 **_The Happy Ending (or, the start of something Big)_ **

****

Bob likes to kiss Brendon. It's the sweetest thing when Brendon tips his head up to be kissed, smiling. Before Brendon, kissing was nice, yeah, but Bob was usually keen to get on to the actual sex part as soon as he could. Sex with nakedness, even. Kissing Brendon, though, is something else. It's maybe the way that his lips feel or the noises he makes in the back of his throat when they've been kissing for half an hour fully clothed on the couch. Kissing Brendon makes him remember when he was sixteen and just kissing another guy was enough. When everything was so new that every brush of skin on skin was enough to make him gasp. Brendon makes him feel like that, makes him feel young and horny and just so stupid with _want._ He thinks about it on the way home as Brendon swings their hands back and forth. It's the first time he's ever said anything remotely like 'I love you' to anyone other than his mom, but he isn't scared at all. His belly is all in knots, but its excitement, not fear. Just before they turn the corner onto Bob's street he hears a crack, and it starts to rain. Brendon laughs and tugs on his hand, and they run laughing all the way back to Bob's apartment.

When the door shuts behind them, they're still laughing and Brendon's face is so open, so sweet that Bob can't really do anything but take his face in two careful hands and kiss his smile. Brendon's hand comes up to cover Bob's, and they stand there dripping on Bob's floor. Bob pulls away, still holding on to Brendon's face.

"I love you." He hadn't really planned on going any further than they had in the park, but now is the right time. It's maybe the only time that will ever be this perfect. He has no doubts that Brendon won't say it back at all.

"That's good because I really, really love you too."

"I thought only a little bit?"

"I was fronting." He leans his forehead against Bob's. "It was all a front. I'm completely nutty about you. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"I was promised sexytimes, Bob Bryar. I hope you have something in mind."

"I think I might be able to come up with something."

He kisses Brendon again, takes his hand, and leads him towards the bedroom. Brendon begins shedding his clothes, leaving his shirt in the hallway, his shoes in the door. Bob's torn between watching and taking off his own clothes until Brendon makes impatient motions. The universal sign for get your fucking clothes off is soon to follow. Bob, who knows what’s good for him, complies.

They put Bob's bed to good use, Brendon straddling Bob's hips, grinding down lazy, brushing kisses on Bob's chest. Bob's hands are just trying to touch  _everything_  all at once. From the small of Brendon's back to the sharp curves of his pelvis and the expanse of his ribcage. Grinning at each other like crazy fools in love. Then Brendon leans down close to Bob's ear.

"I don't want to sound un-romantic, because, as you know, I am all about romance." The words are punctuated with little gasps and grinds. Bob starts nodding before Brendon even gets the rest of his sentence out- "I'd really like it if you fucked me now. Please." His hair is hanging over his face, his lips are bitten red.

Bob will never, can never understand how anyone could ever say no to Brendon. So he tips Brendon onto his back and kisses him hard.

They fuck like that, molded close, kissing endlessly until Brendon arches underneath him and comes, whispering Bob, Bob, and where Brendon goes, he follows.

In the morning, Bob wakes up before Brendon. It's unusual- Brendon is a crazy-light sleeper and he never usually sleeps more than five hours at a time. He allows himself a smug little grin and a mental pat on the back for being the guy who actually fucked Brendon Urie until he slept for eight hours straight. The guy whom Brendon Urie is  _in love with._  He gets up, still grinning, and pulls on some pyjama pants he'd discarded on the floor a couple days ago. Decides, after yawning, that it would be totally cool if he cooked breakfast and decides that pancakes are definitely the way to go. He deliberates about using the heart-shaped pancake moulds Frankie gave him as a joke and decides that yeah, because Brendon  _loves_  that shit. Which is so cool, because secretly, so does he. Brendon, unlike him, has never been told by his ex that that shit is girly and dumb. Brendon just likes what he likes and fuck anyone who messes with that.   
Brendon, as per usual, wakes up just as there's food on the go. He's wearing some of Bob's pants which are just disturbingly huge on him. He looks young, hair sticking up, pushing his glasses up his nose and smiling. Bob's heart hurts in the best way when Brendon pulls himself onto the kitchen counter and makes grabby hands. He walks over and stands between Brendon's legs, tilting his head up, and kisses his boyfriend good morning.

The heart-shaped pancakes are a definite hit. They sit at Bob's tiny kitchen table, wriggling their toes at each other, grinning like crazy idiots. Their sidekicks buzz on the sideboard, Bob's filling up with messages from Gerard, Brendon's with Spencer, Ryan and Jon. They answer one of each before going back to bed and getting naked again. Brendon lazily goes down on Bob, taking his time like there's just nowhere else he'd rather be.

  


He wakes up in the middle of the afternoon, the warm light spilling through the blinds. Brendon is awake already, head resting on his chest, cool fingers making circles on one arm. Bob looks down at him and knows that this is the right time. He takes a deep breath and asks.

"If you want- when you're ready, um, whenever, you could move in with me."

Brendon props himself up on an elbow and looks down at Bob seriously. Bob's heart is going what feels like about fifty million miles an hour and he's looking up at Brendon's face and wanting, more than anything for Brendon to say yes.

Brendon’s mouth curls into the most amazing smile Bob has seen on anyone, ever.

 

“Can we get a kitten?”

 

 **_The End (with kittens and legal Jersey gay marriage!)_ ** ****

****


End file.
